


Moonlight Becomes You

by skivvysupreme



Category: Glee
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Eventual Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel, M/M, Midgame Kurt Hummel/Sebastian Smythe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4476896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skivvysupreme/pseuds/skivvysupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s 1957 and the New Directions, a struggling young band, can’t catch a break. Enter Scandals, its rich young proprietor, and its star performer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moonlight Becomes You

**Author's Note:**

> I started this AGES ago as a birthday fic for my roommate who loves all things vintage and multishipping and inspired me with the idea of Blaine singing Sinatra. But I loved how it was turning out and decided to develop it into a long fic. This was actually the very first fic I wrote and published on tumblr! 
> 
> And I am definitely going to finish it :D

“This is the one, gentlemen. I can feel it.” Blaine Anderson rubbed his hands together and paced back and forth on the small stage. His bandmates, Sam Evans and Noah Puckerman, stared at their fourth man, Artie Abrams, in dubious silence, and Artie stared back with a tight smile that said, _For the love of God, just humor him._

Blaine noticed Artie’s expression and glared at the others. “Don’t look at me – well, him like that. It really is this time.”

“It really was last time. And the time before that, and before that, and every time, ever. Except, no it wasn’t! Not ever!” Puck snapped from behind his guitar.

“Puck, you are grossly exaggerating,” Blaine said. “You’re acting like we’ve never gotten a gig. What about the Pillsbury-Schuester wedding?”

Puck shrugged. “One gig! A gig we never got to play because the groom got jilted at the altar!”

“Fair point, yes, but—”

“But nothing! Nobody wants to book a band with a four-eyed cripple and no drummer. That’s just facts. Sorry, Artie.”

Blaine pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and breathed deep. True, the New Directions hadn’t been booked anywhere since the spring of 1956, when Emma Pillsbury shocked the Lima, Ohio community by sprinting away from her own wedding and running off to become a hygiene and etiquette teacher at an all-girls academy in Westerville. But now it was the summer of 1957, and Blaine knew, deep in his bones, that this was their year. Something good was coming. He and his best friends were going to make a difference, they were going to make art and help people, they were going to show Lima – and eventually the world – that it didn’t matter what the world deemed a disadvantage. Anyone could make it. Anyone could have anything they wanted.

Blaine folded his arms and continued to glare at Puck. He refused to say Puck was right, because he wasn’t, he couldn’t be, because people were better than that and Blaine knew it. At the same time, the confused looks and rude laughter they’d gotten during past auditions (and in some cases, even before the auditions began) flooded his mind.

_“You got a chair instead of a snare, kid! You fellas know you’re in a band?”_

Blaine leaned towards Puck and said, with precise enunciation, “We have who we need.”

Artie rolled up to Blaine, clasped his hands on top of the bass guitar in his lap, looked him in the eye with a level of patience only Artie could have developed, and said nothing.

Blaine knelt down and pressed his palms together. “I promise, I have a feeling about this one. They say this place is progressive, you know? Not just towards physical differences, but towards… um, it’ll be good for all of us.”

Ever since Scandals opened on the west side of town, rumors of the nightclub’s freewheeling vibe and relaxed attitude towards so-called deviant behavior had spread quickly. Thankfully, the rumors also spread quietly, since those who were interested in what Scandals had to offer were usually uninterested in knowing what the rest of Lima had to say about it.

Sam, Artie, and Puck knew about Blaine.

“Blaine, we’re hep to the situation, but I’m not sure how many more times I want to do this,” Artie sighed. “I appreciate what you’re trying to accomplish here, but I’d rather sing for my mom’s hairdressing customers while they wait instead of making a fool of myself all over Lima. And parts of Westerville.”

Blaine shuffled forward a bit. “I’m sorry it’s been so difficult, but I swear, we’re going to make something of this, okay? This year won’t have been for nothing.”

Sam threw an arm around Puck’s shoulders. “Come on, guys! You gotta break a dozen eggs to make an omelet, right?”

Artie snorted. “What? No, maybe three at most—”

“Look, Blaine believes we can get this one, and I believe Blaine, so let’s get our heads right and do this!” Sam tugged Puck over to where Blaine was crouched with Artie and picked up his guitar.

Blaine smiled gratefully and looked at each of his friends in turn. “Okay fellas, here we go. No one can say we’re under-rehearsed at this point, so I know we’re ready. We just have to convince Mr.—” Blaine checked the slip of paper in his jacket pocket, “—Mr. Smythe, and like I said, this place is on our wavelength, so that’s easy. We’ve got this.”

Sam was about to start their customary pre-performance ritual when a round-faced, friendly-looking young man cleared his throat from the side of the stage. “New Directions?” he asked.

Blaine stood, ran a hand over his hair, and went over to shake his hand. He put on a beaming smile and said, “Yes, we are, hello! Mr. Smythe, I presume?”

“No, actually. I’m Trent. House manager.”

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Blaine said. “I’m—“

“I’m sorry,” and Trent really did look sorry to skip the pleasantries, “we’ll meet soon enough if you guys work for us, but we’ve got to get started. We need someone who can start tonight, so… Ready?”

Blaine looked over his shoulder. Sam took his place near the piano on stage right, Puck took stage left, and Artie rolled in between them. As Blaine hurried to the piano and sat down on the bench, Trent nodded in satisfaction and opened the curtains.

The lights that hit the stage weren’t blinding, luckily, so as Blaine looked out into the small club, he could see circular tables filling the floor, and a bar near the back where a beautiful, black-haired woman leaned on one elbow and slowly wiped glasses. A thin, pointy-featured man sat at a table in the center of the room. “About time,” he sighed, staring at his fingernails.

“Mr. Smythe?” Blaine asked, unfazed by his apparent boredom. Barely being given the time of day was nothing new, so long as they got a chance to play.

“That would be my father. His name is on the deed, but he’s never set foot in here, so I decided the place was mine. I’m Sebastian.” At this, Sebastian looked up and swept his eyes over the foursome on stage. “Hmm. The infamous New Directions are a handsome bunch. No one ever said.” Sebastian’s gaze lingered on Blaine.

“Oh, um. Thank you.” Blaine blushed and placed his hands on the piano keys, then joked, “I guess nobody looked long enough.”

“Their loss,” Sebastian replied, still staring at Blaine.

Puck coughed loudly.

Blaine took a deep breath and glanced at his bandmates before smiling back at Sebastian. “Right, so, we’ve got a pretty extensive repertoire. We stay current, we can take requests, we can—“

“Whatever you want for now,” Sebastian said. “Begin.”

Blaine ran his fingers over the piano keys, played a few low notes, and launched into the song the New Directions chose on their way to the audition. “Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars…” Artie picked up the bass line accordingly, as did Sam and Puck with their guitars.

Normally, Blaine would try and connect with their audience and make eye contact every so often, which wasn’t an intimidating task with any of the other proprietors who barely regarded them as they performed. But Sebastian’s unwavering attention took Blaine aback and he found himself looking in various spots around Sebastian’s head and towards the ceiling. He hoped it came off as a wistful bit of movement to match the lyrics.

The foursome finished the song, and to their surprise, a bit of applause had broken out in the small club. Trent stood hidden in the barely-there wings at the side of the stage, clapping and nodding enthusiastically. Sebastian was harder to read, but now that he’d spread his attention a bit to size up the rest of the band, Blaine felt more comfortable watching his face for his reaction. Blaine sent his most charming grin Sebastian’s way and waited.

“Decent,” Sebastian said.

“Oh, screw that, were you listening to the same band I was?” yelled the bartender, whipping her towel towards the stage for emphasis.

“Nobody asked you, Santana.”

“I know you were busy eye-fucking the petite Eurasian, but—”

Sebastian snapped over his shoulder, “That’s enough.”

Blaine very pointedly ignored Puck’s muffled snort, but he ceased his attempts to smile Sebastian into giving them a job and looked past Sebastian’s head instead. He didn’t know when it had happened, but a pale, slender figure in all black was now sat at the bar with his legs crossed, sipping a cocktail through a straw. His head was tilted towards the bartender as he spoke quietly to her, offering Blaine a jaw-first view of the sharpest profile he’d ever seen.

Sebastian looked back, following Blaine’s stare, and said loudly, “Ah, look who’s graced us with his presence!”

The man exchanged a look with the bartender, then rolled his eyes at Sebastian and said nothing.

“Come here. What do you think?” Sebastian nodded in Blaine’s direction.

The man got up smoothly from the bar stool, sauntered over to Sebastian and cocked his hip. Now Blaine could see him up close: the black t-shirt, tucked into his waistband, clung to his chest, as did the black pants around his long, long legs. He had one muscular arm wrapped around his own tiny waist. Blaine knew he was staring longer than most people would find comfortable, but this stunning stranger’s piercing blue eyes seemed to drink him in as well, and Blaine could see the edges of a smile on either side of the glass he held in front of his mouth.

“I think we finally have a house band,” he said. “You were excellent.”

The other guys gave little bows or nodded their thanks, all of them braced for the “You were excellent, but…” to hit and send them back to the drawing board. Blaine just wanted him to keep telling them how good they were, to tell them his life story, to read an encyclopedia index aloud, _anything_ , if only to hear that beautiful, melodic voice for as long as possible.

“Your voice is lovely,” the man continued, returning his attention to Blaine. “We’ll harmonize well together if I need you.”

 _Please need me._ Blaine felt a flutter in his chest at the visual of himself and this man locking eyes over the piano. “Thank you. Does this mean we’re hired?”

Sebastian stood and put his hands on the man’s shoulders. Blaine saw a grimace flicker through the man’s smile, but Sebastian didn’t appear to notice anything. He turned and walked towards the bar, shouting over his shoulder, “His Highness thinks you’ll work and I want you to start right away, so, yeah. You’ll do.”

Puck made a noise that could only be considered a guttural roar and slapped palms with Sam as Artie grinned and went to Blaine to do the same. Blaine leaned over for a hug instead, laughing his relief into Artie’s hair, and when he let go, the man in all black was standing directly in front of them, next to the stage.

“My name’s Blaine,” he blurted, holding his hand out, and continued hurriedly, “and that’s Ar—oh, okay,” as Artie wheeled backwards out of their space and went over to Sam and Puck.

The man unwrapped his arms from around himself, replied, “Kurt,” and shook Blaine’s hand. Kurt’s smile put a dimple in his right cheek. Blaine made a mental note to try and keep that dimple in place as much as he could.

“Thank you so much for giving us a chance.”

“Well, that’s… Sebastian’s decision to make, really. But I’m the one who’ll be working with you, and I’ve got some sway with him, so…”

Blaine tilted his head in a question.

“I’m the regular singer,” Kurt answered.

“I’m guessing you’re not so regular.” Blaine flushed, shocked at his own boldness, but he didn’t look away and he could feel his own face stretching wider and wider in an unrestrainable smile. Blaine would never have thought that he would be so calm about the New Directions’ success, when it came, but here he was, his friends’ loud excitement and relief dull in his ears as his vision tunneled around Kurt.

Kurt looked straight into his eyes for a long moment, as if trying to decide something, and Blaine willed himself not to blush or blink too much at the sudden intensity of it. Puck, Sam, and Artie were chattering excitedly with Trent behind them.

“I’ll see you tonight, Blaine. Seven o’clock,” Kurt said, finally, one corner of his mouth quirking up.

 _Dimple! Yes!_ “Um, actually, Kurt? Do you think—would you want to meet me here an hour earlier? Just to chat, have a drink?”

Sebastian appeared suddenly behind Kurt and placed his hands on Kurt’s hips. “We’ve got to get going.”

Blaine’s stomach dropped as his eyes zeroed in on Sebastian's hands. He clamped his mouth shut and smiled politely at both of them. Kurt twitched a quick smile in response, and whether Sebastian's smirk had more to do with Kurt or with Blaine, Blaine didn't know.

“Seven o’clock,” Blaine said, and abruptly turned and joined his bandmates. Sam grabbed him and pulled him into the little circle where they, Trent included, all knelt around Artie’s chair. Once Blaine let himself look back, he could see Kurt and Sebastian on their way to the door near the back of the room. Sebastian’s hand was clamped more around Kurt’s wrist than his palm. Kurt didn’t look back.

“Please don’t do anything stupid,” Artie whispered into Blaine’s ear.

Blaine returned his attention to his friends and shook his head. Getting this gig was a long time coming, a turn of events Blaine knew they’d deserved for ages, and sure, he’d hoped to meet someone after learning about Scandals’ reputation, but there was no way he could have expected this.


End file.
